As Jon Snow finally boarded the merchant galleas bound for Braavos, the salt spray hit his face, but it could not smooth the deep furrow of his brow.
Leagues away, on the western shores of the Gods Eye, Kevin and his escort were leading a weary column of refugees through the dense woods toward the old lands of Harden Manor. The path was dotted with the blackened shells of scorched villages, the silence of the forest feeling heavy with the weight of recent sorrows.
Harden was the closest of the Alliance's eleven domains to Harrenhal, and its defenses were the tightest. Kevin watched the distant silhouette of the manor keep with a wary eye; they were brushing against the enemy's reach, and an ambush was never more than a thicket away.
They had barely entered the clearing when the thunder of hooves erupted from the mouth of a narrow valley.
A rider clad in a crimson surcoat emblazoned with a golden sun led a half-company of elite infantry and fifty militia. They barred the road with practiced ease. In the biting autumn wind, the sharp clack of pike butts hitting the earth echoed through the trees.
The lead rider sat atop a massive destrier, his black brigandine rattling slightly as he adjusted his grip on a heavy lance. His eyes scanned the crowd with predatory focus. "Who are you? State your leader!"
Kevin spurred his horse forward, his face weary but breaking into a grin as he lowered his scarf. "Morse! It's me!"
"Kevin?" Morse shouted, his shock evident. "What in the heavens are you doing dressed like a beggar-knight?"
"Captain Rand's orders," Kevin explained, gesturing to the leader of the Brotherhood. "Since we were hit at Aspen Vale, he's insisted we keep our feathers tucked. This is Rand, captain of the Brotherhood squad."
Morse sheathed his lance and dismounted, shaking Rand's hand with genuine respect. "I am Morse, Company Captain of the Harden Garrison. Even in the monastery, we've heard how the Brotherhood shields the smallfolk. Your deeds are known to us."
"It is our purpose," Rand replied with a modest smile. He looked at the armed men behind Morse. "But we've passed this way before. I've never seen so much steel on the road. What's changed?"
Morse signaled his men to open the path. "We're too close to Harrenhal for comfort. A few days ago, Mummers tried to hit three of my villages. My boys drove them off, but the people were bled. Now, I have outriders on every path. I won't have my people surprised again."
From the rear of the refugee line, Sandor Clegane let out a derisive snort. "With this lot? You're fine against sellsword dregs, but if the Mountain rides out in person, your boys will look like babes in a cradle."
Morse didn't know the Hound, but he recognized the aura of a killer. He didn't flinch. "Gregor Clegane is easy to spot. If he comes, we pull back to the manor walls. We only need to hold for three days. After that, the Lightbringer arrives with the field army."
Kevin's eyebrows shot up. "Three days? Can the response truly be that fast?"
Morse laughed, a glint of professional secrecy in his eye. "Aye. But I can't tell you how until you're back in the ranks. Security protocols, brother."
Kevin felt a slight sting. I was the first disciple, he thought. But he knew Aldric prized intelligence and secrecy above almost all else. He pushed the thought aside; he had a more pressing matter.
"If your walls are so secure, Morse," Kevin said, meeting his eyes, "can I leave these people in your hands?"
Morse blinked. "Leaving? It's barely a ten-day march to the monastery."
"The Brotherhood has a crisis," Kevin said. "I have to return to the Lightning Lord's host. This is Septon Ray, he is a Sunwalker and the leader of this flock. And the man with the burned face is Sandor Clegane. He's a traveler for now. They can see the people to the monastery."
"I see," Morse nodded. "Do as you must. But take tonight to rest in the manor. The road ahead is long."
Rand shook his head. "No. We ride tonight. Ray will give the report to Aldric. Right, Septon?"
Ray nodded solemnly. "Of course."
The journey from the Harden lands to St. Maur's took them past Longwave Castle and through the villages controlled by House Bennett. As the refugees moved south, the world seemed to heal. The ruins were being rebuilt. In the villages where Sunwalkers stood guard, the people looked healthy and were actually smiling—a sight rarer than dragons in the current Riverlands.
Septon Ray learned that the Golden Dawn's policy for absorbing refugees was now a well-oiled machine. Many of the travelers chose to settle in the border villages, but a third insisted on following Ray to the monastery itself. They had been questioned a dozen times on the road by increasingly well-equipped soldiers, and the sense of security was intoxicating.
Fifteen days after the Mummer attack, Ray led the final twenty-one refugees to the gates of St. Maur's Monastery.
The place was unrecognizable. The Seven-Pointed Star over the gate had been restored, but its center was now a brilliant crimson circle. Each point of the star was painted a different vibrant color, representing the spectrum of the Sun's power.
The walls were mended. The towers had been raised and fitted with heavy scorpions. Armed sentries paced the battlements, but the gates stood wide to welcome the guests.
Ray halted, announcing his name. When the guards realized a Sunwalker had returned, they lowered their spears and bowed with deep reverence, sending a runner to the interior immediately.
A middle-aged woman in the group pulled at Ray's sleeve. "Septon... will they truly take us? Perhaps we should have stayed in the last village."
Ray patted her hand. "Do not fear. Those villages were the branches; this is the root. If the branches are thriving, the Lightbringer will not let the root fail us."
Shortly after, John "The Colorful" emerged from the keep. He wore a simple black robe, followed by two young apprentices.
"Brother Ray! By the Sun, it is good to see you whole!" John embraced his fellow Sunwalker warmly.
"And you, Brother John," Ray smiled. He gestured to the rider behind him. "This is Sandor Clegane. He carries news of the Red Wedding that the Master must hear."
John frowned slightly at the name, then looked at the refugees. "Harden's villages are full, and the monastery is at capacity. But House Costa has empty land nearby. I can arrange for them to settle there."
A man stepped forward, twisting his cap in his hands. "My Lord... Bishop..." He assumed anyone managing such land must be high-born clergy. "We've come this far because we don't want to be 'subjects' to an indifferent lord anymore. They don't care if we live or rot. We don't need land of our own yet. We can build shacks. Just give us work. Let us earn our breath."
John understood the desperation. He turned to his apprentices. "Bennett, take them to the vineyards. They've been wild too long; we need hands to reclaim the soil."
The refugees were led away, the afternoon sun casting long, golden shadows over their ragged forms. Ray watched them go, then turned to John.
"I thought I could spread the Word alone," Ray sighed. "I thought the world was waiting for it. I found out that a world without darkness needs a sword to keep the light burning. Without the Brotherhood, we would be ash."
"Faith needs a shield," John agreed. "Come. I'll take you to the Lightbringer. We have many posts that need a man of your soul."
"And Mr. Clegane?" John asked, looking at the Hound.
"He comes too," Ray said. "His news is a storm that Aldric must prepare for."
They walked through the monastery grounds toward the expanded barracks. Ray stared in shock at the parade ground. It was no longer a village square; it was a fortress within a fortress.
"I remember this being a ruin," Ray whispered.
"The men needed beds," John explained. "The barracks are new."
Ray touched the wall of a building. "Is this stone?"
"No," John smiled. "It's a material the Master calls Cement. You mix sand, stone, and the powder in a mold. Once it dries, it is as hard as the earth itself. It is fast, simple, and cheap."
Ray stared at the bags of gray powder stacked in the corner. "The Master made this too?"
"He is a student of the ancients," John said with deep pride. "He found the lost formulas and improved them. He has made steel that glows and stone that flows like water. He is currently looking for men who can manage his works—he has many laborers, but not enough overseers he can trust with his secrets."
Ray didn't think of the labor. He made the sign of the star over his chest. "I am beginning to believe he truly is an emissary sent by the Sun to save us. How else could one man know so much?"
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